*If you are younger than 18 years
If sex is to your neighborhood peers
If offended by words full of sexual sleaze
Do us both a favor and skip this, please.
Please ask permission before posting this elsewhere.
Copyright 2000 by Sara H.
"Shockingly Black," used in reference, is brought into this fiasco by
kind permission of Eye of Serpent.
The characters in this are real, although the circumstances are
not. Really. It's just an idea that came into my head and I had to get
it out in order to get on with other writing. Please enjoy, if it
tickles your fancy.
- Sara*
----
Spell Checker
By Cat's sara
Categories: FF, FD, DS, BD, MC
----
Those of you that have corresponded at any length with me know that one
of my greatest frustrations in writing is grammar, followed closely by
spelling homonyms. You know, those little words that the spell checker
says you wrote perfectly: "Mai pea sea is knot correcting prop early."
Every time I post a new story, I find little mistakes I made, and it
drives me crazy. It doesn't matter how many times I proofread; there
are always one or two things that I miss.
Then there is the annoying grammar checker that wants to change every
sentence to something that doesn't make sense. Like in the
"Blasphemy," the grammar checker said that I should change "a woman,
dressed in a jumpsuit identical to her own" to, "a woman, dressed in a
jumpsuit identical to her owns." Now, tell me, does that make sense?
No! And that's not even one of the really *stupid* examples.
The heart of the problem, though, is that I don't ever have enough time
to go over my writing at length. So, I decided that my mission, should
I choose to accept it, should be to find a really, really good spelling
and grammar checking program.
I couldn't find anything at the local stores that seemed to fit my
needs, so I did a search on the Internet. I got thousands of listings,
most of them complaining about the same problem I was having. I tried
defining my search a little better, and got the listings down to three
hundred or so. Then I searched in *those* listings for "spell
+correction."
The first listing that came up was just what I was looking for.
It advertised that it could check anything written for context, for
spelling, and even had a pronunciation guide, and it had a language
base that could work in every modern language as well as more obscure,
ancient languages. It included a translator, and a "Spell Check Wizard"
that would let me tune my prose to my personal preferences. It looked
perfect.
It also cost $250.00, but I figured if it was good enough, it would be
worth it. It was still less than most of the software I used. I ordered
online and even paid the ridiculously high shipping charge for next day
delivery. I was psyched.
When I came home from work the next day, it was waiting for me on the
doorstep.
My partner, Susan, was working late, so I took the opportunity to load
it and try it out. It included one floppy disk and one CD-ROM, and took
only about five minutes to load (and integrate itself into my word
processor). It demanded to be registered, and it was kind of odd. It
not only asked name and address and computer information, but asked for
spousal/partner information, names of friends (I assumed to include
names in its dictionary), and personal statistics, up to and including
sexual orientation. *"What the heck,"* I thought, filling everything
in.
My first experiment was a I'd written over a year ago; one that
was so bad that I'm almost embarrassed to mention it. It was called
"The Necklace," and was a typical "jewelry with amazing powers" sort of
story. I won't go too much into the details, because that was then and
this is now. It will have to suffice for me to say that it wasn't my
best work.
As soon as I asked it to check the story, it came up with the Spell
Check Wizard menu that asked for what I wanted it to do. I decided to
go for it. I checked the boxes next to Spelling, Grammar, Continuity,
POV First Person. At the bottom there was a little sliding scale thingy
that went from "Fiction" at one end to "Realism" at the other. I
thought it was kind of strange, considering my understanding of the
definitions of fiction and reality... but I decided to make it 80%
realistic. I thought I might as well see what this program would do
when I let it loose.
I hit the "Finish" button and waited. The thing churned for nearly
twenty minutes, stopping, starting, stopping, and restarting. Finally
it finished, and I looked at what it had done.
To my surprise, it had changed very little, but as I read I was amazed
at how much the subtle changes made a difference. It also changed the
names of the characters to people in my life, including myself. I
decided that it was the "Realism" factor. Regardless, I couldn't stop
reading, and read it three times through before I could bring myself to
quit for a moment.
At the bottom of the last page was some kind of Latin phrase... a
corporate motto, I assumed, followed by copyright information and the
note, "Spell checked and approved." Kind of arrogant, but hey, it had
done a great job, so who was I to complain?
I returned from the Land of Critique, and realized that I felt a little
scornchy, so I decided to take a shower. Susan would probably be home
by the time I was done, and I was hoping for a nice night together.
Damn, reading that had made me hot... and although I usually
relate well to the victim in MC stories, it was *much* more intense to
see my own name taking up that place in the story.
I let my soapy fingers run over my nipples, and found them incredibly
hard and sensitive... tried to tweak them but the soap kept making them
slip out... absolutely delicious. My mind turned to Susan as I let my
fingers "clean" my clit... it seemed like it had never been quite so
sensitive...
I decided to wait for Susan to come home before I continued... the way
I was feeling, all hot and randy, was something she would definitely
want to share.
----
I was watching the six o'clock news when Susan walked in the door.
"Hey, babe... I was wondering if you had found someone else," I pouted,
teasing her.
"No way, Sara... I just stopped to pick up something," she smiled back,
holding a hand behind her back.
"Nothing for me?" I joked, smiling. "I'm disappointed!"
She held out a small box, without wrapping paper but with a cute little
silver bow on it. "No, I just saw it and knew it was 'me'," she shot
back, grinning from ear to ear. "I know you're gonna love it..."
She opened it slowly, while I watched... and my heart nearly stopped
when I saw what was inside. It was an alexandrite pendant necklace, and
the stone was at least five carats. A small fortune. But more than
that, it was exactly... and I mean *exactly*... like the one in my
story.
"Well, put it *on*," I said impatiently. "You didn't buy it just for me
to gawk at in the box!"
"Okay," she said, hesitating. This was just too weird. "My God, Susan,
it's just beautiful," I added. I meant it, too. It was gorgeous. I
couldn't tear my eyes away. I began to notice a sort of dreamy throb
somewhere between my ears.
She pulled it over her hand, and let it dangle in front of our eyes.
Then, something else strange happened. I felt a wave pass through me,
sending a shiver. "Someone just walked over my grave," I laughed.
Susan was still gazing, admiring her new purchase. She was looking kind
of intense, actually. "Huh?" she finally murmured.
"I was just saying that seeing this thing on you sent a shiver through
me... too weird, eh?"
"You *do* like it very much, don't you, Sara."
"It makes you look like a queen, Susan," I gushed, almost with awe.
"It's like it's a part of you or something..."
"Well, then, go fix your queen a fuzzy navel, my loyal subject!" she
quipped. Now, I know you don't know me, but really, what happened next
was quite out of character.
"Yes, M'lady," I responded. Where had *that* come from? *The story,*
came the answer. I thought I had been joking, but my feet walked me
into the kitchen, eyes cast down, and I heard the clinking of glasses
as I began to do just as she had "commanded." My head was *definitely*
in a weird place. I was thinking of not doing it, but kind of getting
turned on by it, too.
Still, I didn't take it too seriously. We always play around, and I
figured I was just letting myself go a little. Why, then, did it feel
like the voice of reason in me had nothing to do with my actions? And
why was the thought coming back to me over and over to surrender, to
submit, to obey? Why was this pressure growing in my mind and down my
spine and into my asshole and clit to worship my Queen - I mean, my
lover and partner?
The story. Real. 80%. Holy fucking shit...
I began to fight the compulsions, but fighting just made hot sparks
shoot through my slutty little clit and nipples as if connected by an
electrical wire. My revulsion just made me hotter to obey... my mind
was starting to fall into line... I could feel each barrier crumbling
under the relentless need to obey the wearer of the alexandrite... my
snatch was fucking *dripping* and my mind was dripping away with it.
Every step back into the room took me deeper into Susan's irrepressible
draw. I glanced up into her eyes, and gasped. *She knew! The bitch
KNEW!*
"Serve, slave," she commanded, her voice filled with strength she had
never before possessed.
I tried to hold my legs back, but all that happened was that I looked
awkward. *"A slave must be smooth and perfectly graceful,"* came the
soft inner command. Of course, smooth and graceful... smooth and...
I tried to reconcile the widening gap between the last of my reason and
my powerful, almost instinctive, reactions as I bent to one knee, and
then bowed low before my Queen. No, Susan. My Queen. Susan my Queen. My
Mistress. My protector. My existence. No. My purpose. Whore. Yes. No.
Obey. Surrender. Slut. Submit. *"Let go for Queen Mistress Susan,"*the
inner voice began to chant.
I raised and held up to her the glass of orange juice and peach
schnapps. Before I could even think, my lips spoke. "May this cold
refreshment please Your Highness as much as it has honored Your slut to
make and present it to You..."
I nearly gagged at the cornpone of my words, but they flowed out,
nonetheless. I was the victim of my own poor attempts at dialog...
She opened her legs, and I saw a thin wisp of my Queen's juices drip
down in a long, sinewy dollop. That's when I finally gave in, when I
finally knew that my Queen had won, that I was beyond choice as my own
tongue drooled in sympathy with her wanton, beautiful cunt. I fell to
her as her hands guided me, and began to lap up... up... up... up...
up... up... and as she screamed out her pleasure, it screamed out
through me... our bodies one in our obscene parody of life, but life
that was now real...
Her hands reached out and pulled on my nipples, hard. The pain nearly
made me scream... but I held my tongue. I felt the delicious rapture of
fear and desire, wanting to please, afraid of the pain pleasing might
bring. I was at the top floor, and watched inside my mind as my hand,
slowly, unstoppably pressed the button for the basement. Da basement.
Debasement.
My psyche was at the great chasm of total submission, of letting go
until nothing was taboo, and my existence was only held to earth by the
word of my Queen...
My mind was spinning uncontrollably down into the quagmire of total
submission, my body singing its pleasure as my Mistress Queen was
pleased, and I felt her hands, stinging, slap my ass come around to my
belly, scratching. I flinched at every touch, gentle or stinging, and I
didn't just feel apathy, I *wanted* her to use me for her pleasure,
whatever that would mean. There was no end to her torture and pleasure,
combining and recombining them so that more and more they were the same
thing...
I felt the inevitable building of my release, my rapture, and when I
felt myself this time, and felt it take me over, my mind and my
soul, my body bucking like a mindless whore in the dance of endless
abandon, it was not even on the frigging Richter scale.
It was the sun burning through my soul.
Just like my story.
I won't even talk about what she did with clothespins... but it was
wonderful.
Finally, after we tasted every inch of each other, and teased each
other to untold glory and climax upon maddening climax, she fell
asleep.
Taking what I knew must be the 20% that was still mine, I crept back to
the computer, and clicked on the "Undo" button. At that moment, I came
to believe that perhaps there is a God. Or a Goddess.
Still, the event changed our relationship. Although "Queen" and
"Highness" are no longer standard parts of my vocabulary, there is no
doubt who is in charge. She is my obsession and I am her toy. It is
just as it should be.
I know how it was. This is better. Better than I ever dreamed it could
be.
And that would be the end of *this* story, but...
----
...the real problem is this. I think I'm in trouble. In a moment of
even further weakness, I ran the story, "Shockingly Black," through my
Spell Checker. Like my own story, I gave it the full treatment, except
I set it to 100% realism. I know I'm probably insane. Just now, I
answered a knock on the door, and I opened it to find a suitcase
sitting on my doorstep.
And, despite every instinct that's telling me not to, I'm about to open
it.
----
*Please send any comments or feedback to cats_sara@yahoo.com.
- Sara*
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